


break our hearts and shake our souls

by probablyfakenews



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Blindness, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, I have a problem, I meant to write something fun and cute and it turned into angst, Kidnapping, Peter Parker Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-03-01 07:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/probablyfakenews/pseuds/probablyfakenews
Summary: "I'll give you anything. Everything. Whatever it is that you want," said Mrs. Stark, in a rare break of composure. "Just don't hurt my babies."Or, when armed assailants come after Morgan, Peter does everything in his power to protect his baby sister.





	1. Chapter 1

 "I'm starting to think two eyepatches was a bad idea."

_"Oh, has Eyepatch Pete gotten an upgrade?"_

Peter could hear Pepper's laughter through the phone at his ear, her voice clear and bright. Warmth spread through his chest, through his heart, at the sound. He wasn't used to hearing people laugh anymore, especially Pepper. The first few months after Tony had been... hard, to say the least. They had all skirted around each other, the sad fragments of friends and family that the hero had left behind, like orbiting planets who had lost their sun. They were still learning how to be a family in Tony's absence, but each day was easier, if only by a little.

Now, Peter stumbled around the living room of the lake house, Morgan balanced in his free arm as she steered him toward the buried treasure, which was just a plate of cookies he had baked for them to share. Following the final battle and the funeral that followed, he had avoided Morgan like the plague. Tony radiated out of her very being, from the tug of a smirk on her lips to the intelligent glint of her warm eyes. When she spoke to him, Peter's barely suppressed grief would bowl over him like a tidal wave. Months later, spending time with her became as easy as breathing. She was his sister in everything but blood, and he was the best brother he could be in return. 

"If you call complete blindness an upgrade," he told Pepper. "I am at the mercy of your child. She's trying to lead me to our pirate booty but I keep hitting the wall instead." Peter winced as Morgan pulled back on the elastic band of his eyepatches and let it slap against the back of his head. "Ow! And now she's bullying me. I didn't realize Captain Morguna was so ruthless. Are you this mean to all of your crew?"

Morgan giggled and slapped his shoulder repeatedly to usher him forward. "You're almost there!" she squealed. 

"Aye, aye, Captain!" Peter continued forward blindly. "Gotta admit, I have serious respect for Daredevil now. How he fights blind, I have no idea."

_"Daredevil is blind?"_

_"_ Whoops, forget I said anything. He doesn't want people to know that."

_"My lips are sealed,"_  Pepper promised sincerely. _"Thank you again for babysitting for me. I hate to take up so much of your winter break."_

"It's no problem at all. I wouldn't be doing much anyway. It's hard for me to go patrolling when its this cold out, even with the heater in the suit."

He still patrolled in winter, but the cold stuck to his bones and dimmed his reflexes. On a few rare, particularly bad nights, a primal need for sleep occupied his every thought, and he worried that if he gave in to his desire to close his eyes, he wouldn't wake up again until the warm spring sun returned and thawed him back out again. 

Spider powers were not always a good thing. 

_"I almost forgot about your thermoregulation problems. Is the house staying warm enough for you?"_

"Oh, yeah, its super cozy in here. We've got a fire going and-"

Pain blossomed in his hip as he jammed it into what he assumed was an end table. A shattering crash followed. Peter peeled the eyepatches off his face and surveyed the broken lamp at his feet. He swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that despite the lake house's cozy, rustic feel, each piece of decor likely cost more than his entire life's savings. 

"These are some dangerous waters, Captain!" He told Morgan as he picked his way through the glass shards, careful not to cut his bare feet. "We need to get to safer seas!" 

He dropped her on the couch, and she bounced a bit on the fluffy cushions. Morgan adjusted her pirate hat and smirked at him. "I'm telling Mom!"

_"Do I even want to know?"_

"Probably not," Peter chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll fix it!"

_"Fix what? Peter-"_

"I'm sorry, Pep, what was that? You're breaking up."

_"I pay good money to get cell reception out there. I know damn well you aren't breaking up."_

"Bye, Mom!"

Peter panicked and ended the call. It wasn't until a few seconds later that he realized what he had said. Heat crawled up his face. Did he really just call Pepper 'Mom?' He loved the Starks with his entire heart, but there was no way Pepper would see him as a son. Not after he got her husband killed.

The carefree joy of the evening dissipated, leaving Peter lethargic. He set his phone on the arm of the couch. He tried to maintain his cheer for Morgan's sake, but she was probably smart enough to see through his ruse.

"Stay there, Morg. I'm gonna get a broom and clean this up."

She nodded, and Peter headed toward the garage without another word. As he crossed the threshold into the hallway, a shiver wracked its way up his spine. He shook it off, though. Ever since Thanos, his spidey sense had been unreliable at best. Everything seemed to set it off these days, even stuff that posed no threat at all. May wanted him to go to therapy, something about trauma and possibly PTSD, but he managed to weasel his way out of it so far. It was nothing, he assured her. Just a little bit of nerves after dying on an alien planet. Not a big deal. 

Regardless, he picked up the pace. 

Peter had just grabbed a broom from the garage when he heard it. A loud bang, like that of a door being kicked down. Oh God, had that come from the living room? The broom clattered to the ground as he took off in a sprint.

"Morgan!"

He skidded around the corner and back into the living room, coming face to face with a dozen men and women in white and black armored suits. The door had been knocked off its hinges. Snow filtered in from outside, dusting the hardwood with icy crystals. All of their guns were aimed at him, save for one that was pressed against Morgan's side by a man with a scarred face who held her in his arms. 

"Take one more step and the girl is dead."

Peter froze. He held up his hands, slowly, placating. "Don't hurt her," he pleaded. His eyes flitted across the room, calculating the best way to take down the agents, but none of the scenarios guaranteed that Morgan wouldn't get caught in the crossfire. Fighting back would be too risky.

"That depends entirely on you, kid," Scarface told him. "Get on your knees."

Peter obliged. He could feel the cold kiss of metal against his temple as the agents surrounded him. Morgan started crying.

"Hey, it's going to be okay-"

Light flashed across his vision as he was struck in the side of the face with the gun.

"Don't talk unless boss tells you to!" The woman closest to him screamed. Peter spat a mouthful of blood onto the flloor. He smiled at Morgan as calmly as he could, but there wasn't much he could do to spare her from the trauma of this situation.

He was the worst babysitter ever.

He was the worst _brother_  ever.

"He's seen our faces," one of the agents said. "We can't just let him go."

"The Stark heir is the only one we need. We were told nothing of the boy."

"Stark wouldn't trust her daughter with just anyone," Scarface said. He passed her off to another agent and approached Peter. "Who are you?"

"A babysitter."

"Oh, I'm sure you are much more than that," Scarface knelt down and tapped his gun against Peter's cheek. Peter steeled himself, refusing to even blink as Scarface stared him down. "Who are you to the Stark family?"

Peter said nothing. He studied the man's face, committing every detail to memory. The scars carved their way across the man's skin like fractured glass, concentrated mostly around his prominent forehead. His short unruly hair did little to hide his unusually flat skull. He analyzed Peter with small, sharp eyes. Something about this man nagged at Peter. He had seen him somewhere before. They would get out this, Peter and Morgan, and when it was over Peter would not rest until these people paid for traumatizing his little sister. 

Scarface struck Peter with enough force to send him sprawling to the floor. "I asked you a question!" Scarface yelled, spit flying. Peter tried to push himself back up but received a kick in the ribs for his efforts. Something gave way in his chest with a grotesque crack. He gagged, curling around the white-hot pain that shot through his ribs. Was this man enhanced? No run-of-the-mill bad guy had ever hurt him quite this badly. 

"Boss, check this out." One of the lackeys removed a frame from the wall and handed it to Scarface, who studied it for a moment before shoving it in Peter's face. Peter could barely breathe, his chest tight and constricted in a way that reminded him painfully of his asthma-ridden past. He forced his blurry eyes to focus. It was a photo of him and Tony with their arms around each other, giving each other bunny ears. There was a familiar, comfortable smile on each of their faces, and it would be clear to even an outsider that Peter loved Tony, and Tony loved Peter in return. 

Peter hated the photo. Pepper had told him once that it was this photo, this reminder of Peter, that motivated Tony to complete the so-called time heist. This photo was the reason that Tony had sacrificed himself, all so that Peter could live. As if Peter's life was somehow worth more, was worth anything at all. 

"I'll ask you one more time," Scarface warned. "How did you know Tony Stark?"

Peter was expendable. They had come here for Morgan, the heir to everything Tony had built. Despite all of their talk, they couldn't afford to kill her, at least not right now. But there was nothing stopping them from hurting her, and Peter could not let that happen. He refused. And if he couldn't fight them here, then the only way to protect Morgan was to ensure that he didn't leave her side. 

Lying was his only option.

"I'm his son," Peter gasped. "I'm Tony Stark's son."

The room fell silent. Many of the agents stared at Peter like he had grown a second head. Even Morgan's cries had faded into soft sniffles as she stared at him, confused. Scarface grabbed Peter's chin. His beefy fingers dug painfully into Peter's skin as he tilted his face side to side, studying Peter like some kind of lab specimen. He grunted, satisfied with what he saw. 

"You favor him," Scarface said, before slamming Peter's head to the floor and knocking him out cold.


	2. Chapter 2

 Peter didn't believe in ghosts. But he understood with absolute certainty that Tony haunted his dreams. 

In this dream, Tony lounged on the couch in May's apartment. He was wearing casual clothes, jeans and a Metallica shirt that had seen better days. Golden light filtered in through the window, basking Tony in an ethereal glow.

He looked healthy. Happy. More relaxed than he ever had alive.

A sick juxtaposition to the last time Peter had seem him. Dirty. Distant.

Peter sat on the arm of the couch, facing the window, his back to Tony. There was no view visible through the window. It was just white. Blank. Fuzzy around the edges in the way that dreams sometimes were. 

Tony, however, was crystal clear. 

"You've gotten yourself into quite the pickle, kiddo."

Peter scoffed. The understatement of the year.

"Are we still doing the silent treatment? Teenage angst never looked good on you." Tony shifted on the couch. "Look, I get that this is uncomfortable for you, that you hate me for leaving you like that, but life is too long and shitty to keep everything bottled up."

"I could never hate you, Mr. Stark."

"It's Mr. Stark again? I thought you had finally starting calling me Tony."

"That was an extenuating circumstance."

If you could consider shock and unimaginable grief an extenuating circumstance.

Tony rested his hand on Peter's shoulder. He shrugged it off.

"You don't have to bear all of this alone, Atlas. I have experience with being kidnapped, you know." Tony pressed on, unbothered. "I saw what you did. It was smart, telling them what you did. They would have killed you otherwise."

"I'm sorry."

"What could you possibly be sorry for?"

"I couldn't stop them from taking her." Tears welled up in his eyes against his will. Pathetic. He was pathetic. "I couldn't protect her. I- I don't deserve to call myself your son, even as part of a ruse."

"Peter..." Tony was in front of him now, a worried crease in his brow. Peter averted his gaze.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Stark. I'm so sorry." 

Strong arms wound around his shoulders, pulling him in tight. The gesture was familiar. Comforting. Warm. Peter collapsed into it, his grief as fresh as the day it happened.

"If anything, I don't deserve to be a father to you. I'm so unbelievably proud of the man you're becoming. The man you are." Tony wiped away Peter's tears. Peter felt something tugging at the core of his being, pulling him out of this dream and into the painful present. "Take care of her for me, Pete."

"I will."

Reality rushed up to meet him, and the dream was swallowed by black.

 

 

Peter's hearing was the first thing that came back to him. 

The hum of florescent lights overhead nearly masked the gentle heart beat of a small body, curled against his side. A fly buzzed incessantly by his ear. He reached up to swat at it, but something caught his wrist. 

Peter startled awake. He blinked furiously against the sudden bright light. Handcuffs encircled his left wrist, attaching him to a space heater that was fastened to the wall behind him. It didn't appear to be functioning, because the winter chill had crept into the room. Morgan was fast asleep, one arm tied to the same heater with rope. 

They were in the corner of the rattiest hotel room Peter had ever seen. The place must be abandoned, because there was no way it was up to health code. Cobwebs trailed across the ceilings in tangled clumps. Rat droppings littered the floor. Empty pizza boxes were scattered across the only functioning bed. A deep ache settled in Peter's stomach. How long had it been since he last ate? 

A camera was balanced on a tripod in front of them. Peter looked for a way to escape. The room had no windows that he could see, which was definitely against fire code. The door was shut, but voices filtered in from another room. 

_"Soon after five-year-old Morgan Stark and 16-year old Peter Parker were reported missing, a live stream surfaced online that appears to feature the two lost kids restrained in an unidentifiable room. The stream has been active for nearly three hours now, and authorities have been unable to track down the source."_

A live stream? Peter glanced back to the camera. A blinking red light indicated that it was recording. 

_"While Morgan seems unharmed, Peter appears to have been beaten and is unconscious, but alive. No statement has been made from their captors, but both Pepper Stark and May Parker, the legal guardian of Peter Parker, have urged citizens not to watch the stream. Several attempts have been made to take the video down, but it has already been spread widely and can be found on numerous sites._

_"These are our children," said Mrs. Parker when asked about the stream. "Our babies. Who are in very real danger. Their suffering is not your entertainment."_

_The motivation behind the kidnapping is still unknown, although due to the Stark family's wealth and range of influence, authorities suspect that a ransom will be posted soon._

_"I'll give you anything. Everything. Whatever it is that you want," said Mrs. Stark, in a rare break of composure. "Just don't hurt my babies."_

"You hear that?" A man spoke up over the news announcer. Peter didn't recognize his voice. "She said 'my babies.' Plural. She cares about the boy."

"I've been digging into his past, " a woman replied. She sounded like the lackey who had yelled at him back at the lake house, had struck him with her gun. His face was still sore from that. "His records list his parents as Richard and Mary Parker. They worked for Oscorp and both died in a plane crash along with several other Oscorp employees."

The man scoffed. "That's convenient."

"What, you the think the Starks had something to do with it?"

"I always thought something about that crash was fishy. Isn't it strange that one of SI's biggest competitors took a huge blow because of that crash, and then a few years later, the son of two of the victims becomes the youngest employee that SI has ever had?"

"He's employed for SI?"

"Not only that, he was Tony's _personal_ intern, whatever that means. The guy took him everywhere. Even brought him to a conference in Germany when the kid was fourteen."

"That doesn't make sense," the woman said. "SI doesn't hire teenagers."

"Exactly. So here's what I think happened. Tony gets this Mary chick pregnant, but he wanted nothing to do with the kid. It would have been during his playboy years, afterall. Mary pretends the baby is Richard's, and nobody questions anything. Fourteen years later, Tony realizes that he needs an heir to take over SI should he inevitably die defending the earth. So he seeks out the kid, who is an orphan twice-over and in desperate need of a father figure. He's easy to manipulate. Tony starts showing him the ropes. Then the kid dies in the Snap and, oh shit, now Tony needs another heir."

"So he has Morgan. Then, when the Snap is undone, Tony dies, and he leaves behind two potential heirs." The woman laughs, cold and cruel. It sends a shiver down Peter's spine. "And then we kill both of them! Do you think we'll even have to assassinate Mrs. Stark, or will she kill herself after all that?"

Peter saw red. As if he would let them hurt Morgan or Pepper. He made a promise to Tony, even if it was dream/ghost version of Tony, and he would damn well honor that promise. 

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Peter tested his restraints. Standard handcuffs, nothing meant to contain enhanced individuals. His legs had been left free, as well as one of his arms. He could easily break out if he wanted, but he could feel the camera on him. How many people were watching that live stream? Hundreds? Thousands? More? He had never felt more exposed. 

A door creaked open. Morgan must have woken up, because Peter felt her hands grab onto his shirt. He patted her head with his free hand, comforting her the best he could with their restraints in the way. 

One of the lackeys in white and black armor entered the room. A shark tattoo curled around the man's neck, partially concealed  by his uniform. 

"Nice of you to finally join us, Mr. Parker," the lackey said. "Or is it Mr. Stark?"

Morgan whimpered, which shattered Peter's heart into about a million little pieces. As an honorary big brother, he would have to do something about that. The smile that he plastered on his face was difficult to maintain, but managed it. 

"How rude of me! You know my name, and I don't know yours!" Peter enthused. "Wait, don't tell me. It's Brian. He looks like a Brian, doesn't he, Morg?"

Morgan blinked up at him, confused. "Brian?"

"You're right, that's a little too bland for a man with a shark tattoo. What is that, a Hammerhead? Interesting choice. Remember that time we went to the aquarium? And we got to see all the sharks?"

Morgan nodded. "I liked the jellyfish."

"They were pretty, weren't they? The octopus was my personal favorite, though." Peter looked around in an exaggerated fashion. "I'd much rather be back at the aquarium than in this dingy old hotel."

Brian, as Peter decided to call him, growled. "If you're trying to give hints to your family about where you are, just stop. The camera feed is visual only. They can't hear you."

Peter kept his face from falling, but only barely. Brian dropped a folded piece of paper onto Peter's lap. 

"Listen here, you little brat. I'm going to call Pepper Stark, and you are going to read this word for word to her. No snark, no sniveling, no funny business. Do you understand me?"

Peter skimmed the letter. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he read. "And if I don't?"

Brian knelt down in front of him. He leveled his gun at Peter's forehead and cocked it. "It's not up for discussion." He dialed a number on a simple black flip phone and handed it to Peter.

A century passed in the space between each ring before it was finally picked up. 

_"Peter!"_

_"Morgan!"_

"Mommy?" Morgan perked up and reached out for the phone.

All thought of the letter was lost the moment Peter heard May's voice. "May? Oh my God, Aunt May, I'm so sorry-"

Brian shot his gun into the ceiling, a warning shot, before aiming it back at Peter. 

"They want me to read this to you." Peter stared into the camera lens, imagining May's warm brown eyes instead of a black, indifferent lens.  His hands shook as he unfolded the letter. "You said that you would give us anything and everything we wanted in return for their safety. But you see, we don't think that is possible. We don't want money. We don't want fame, or recognition, or tech. Tony--"

Peter shook his head.  He couldn't read this. Brian cocked his gun. He shifted the gun so that it was aimed at Morgan instead. Peter pressed on.

"Tony Stark was a terrorist," he read.  "An abomination to this earth. His company was built on a foundation of blood and tears. We don't want your money. No amount of rebranding can ever change the fact that your fortune came from the suffering of others. It is not yours to use so freely. 

"What we want, Mrs. Stark, is for you to watch your husband's wretched legacy crumble in front of you. His daughter and bastard son are going to starve to death," Peter swallowed, but a lump remained in his throat. Had it always been this hard to breathe? "While you scurry around like rats, trying and failing to save them. Enjoy this phone call, because it will be the last time you ever speak to your children."

Peter's hand fell limp. He dropped the letter into his lap. May and Pepper were screaming on the other end of the line, voices thick with tears. 

"I love you," Peter said as the phone was wrenched from his grasp and he and Morgan were left alone in the room once more. 

 

 

There was no clock in the room. Peter only knew that time was passing because he kept growing hungrier and hungrier. Starvation would come faster for him, he assumed, due to his ridiculously needy metabolism. But the thought of Morgan growing even a little hungry sent him into a rage. He needed a plan to get out of here, and soon. 

He spent the time telling Morgan stories. Stories about Tony. Not as Iron Man, but as a mentor, a friend, a father. Only happy stories delivered with the most enthusiasm he could muster. She listened with wide eyes, enraptured, and occasionally told him a story of her own. 

He tried to maintain some sense of normalcy for her. They pretended to brush their teeth, a sad mockery of their nightly routine. She curled up beside him, and he kissed her forehead the way she had seen Pepper do. 

The way Tony had probably done, before.

Armored lackeys came and went, although Scarface never returned. If he really was the boss, then he probably had more important things to do than watch a couple of kids. They were planning something. Something involving Pepper, but what exactly Peter wasn't sure. 

At the moment, Brian was the only lackey in the room. He sat at the kitchen table, scrolling aimlessly on a smartphone. A set of keys jangled against his hip. 

Peter fell back against the wall and took stock of his injuries. Every inch of his face felt sore and swollen, although Peter supposed being slammed into a hardwood floor would do that to you. His chest still ached from his healing rib injury. The tightness made it difficult to breathe. 

Wait... he could make that work. He didn't want to scare Morgan, but he needed to get those keys. Peter drew in a sharp breath, and then another. Tried to replicate that awful, suffocating feeling he was all too familiar with from his days with asthma. He doubled over, hiding his face as much as possible for fear it would give him away. "I can't breathe," he wheezed. 

"Pete!"

"What the hell?" Brian was in front of him in a heartbeat. The man patted his face, rough, panicked. "You can't die yet, kid. Boss has plans for you."

"I'm sure they're nothing compared to the plans I have for him," Peter whispered. Brian startled, but had no time to retreat before Peter's foot connected with his face. Brian slumped to the side and landed solidly in front of Morgan, who scurried back as far as she could. 

They were still being filmed. It was only a matter of time before someone realized what he had done. He tried to reach the keys with his foot, but the angle was awkward. 

"I got it," Morgan said. Peter watched her, surprised, as she reached out with her free hand and grabbed the keys from Brian's belt. 

A grin split across his face. Genuine. "Oh, you genius child."

 

 

The first hallway was clear. 

Peter ran with Morgan nestled tightly in his arms. This was going way too well. He looked for a window, a stairwell, something other than locked doors and beige walls. He could sense people milling about in the rooms to either side of him, and although he was more likely to find a window by busting down one of these doors, he couldn't risk barging his way into a room full of armed men by accident. 

He turned a corner and was met with three armored lackeys. Peter took down the first guy before he could even get his gun out. The motions became routine. Punch. Dodge. Elbow the face. Knee the ribs. Disarm. Disarm. Disarm. Above all, don't let them hit Morgan. 

Peter stashed one of their guns in the waistband of his jeans and prayed he never had a reason to use it. He swore off guns years ago, but Morgan's life was worth more to him than even his most treasured ideals. 

They finally found a stairwell, and Peter took the steps two at a time. There were too many flights to count. He would never make it to the bottom before they caught him. He changed tactics and pushed through a door out into another hallway. 

It lead him into a large dining room. Dusty white table cloths covered a dozen round tables. An elaborate chandelier hung above, flickering. It appeared to be missing a few lights. Floor to ceiling windows lined the left side of the room, their view hidden by thick, velvet curtains, faded from age.

Peter was halfway to the windows when Morgan shrieked. 

His spider sense, which had began as a vague unease, was now in full-blown panic mode. Armored lackeys poured in through every doorway, booted feet pounding the floor in near unison. Peter was surrounded in seconds. 

The lackeys parted down the middle, creating a path. Scarface strode through their ranks, tense with barely suppressed rage. His armor was different than the others. Bulkier, with a faint blue glow through the joints and gaps in the plating that reminded Peter of an arc reactor. So maybe he wasn't enhanced, then. Just a big man in a fancy suit. Peter had dealt with his sort before. 

"I underestimated you." Scarface paced around him in a slow, unnerving circle. Peter held Morgan tighter against himself, turning with Scarface so that the man was never behind his back. "Like father, like son, I suppose. I won't make that mistake again."

Scarface gestured to a couple of his lackeys. "Take the girl."

"Over my dead body," Peter snarled. He elbowed the first assailant in the nose, viciously satisfied when it came away bloody. Their armor really should have helmets. 

The other lackeys hit and insignia over their heart, and their suits began to blow just like Scarface's. They closed in around Peter, an ever-tightening circle of mech-armor and cruel grins.

Peter sat Morgan down at his feet. He hated to part with her, even for a moment, but a bad feeling was forming in the back of his mind. He would need both hands for this fight.

He went to punch the next guy, but his fist was easily caught. Peter kneed the guy in the groin, panicked, and barely managed to dodge a kick that came flying toward his back. Another kick followed soon after, then another. They connected with a force that was definitely superhuman, intending to break, to maim. He was trapped in a whirlwind of flying limbs, clawing fingers. Punches, kicks, bruises, blood. He lost all sense of where he was, who he was, trapped beneath a flailing mass of bodies.

The storm only broke when he Morgan was ripped away from his side. 

The gun was in his hand before he even registered reaching for it. 

A woman had grabbed Morgan. She started to run off, her back to Peter, when he pressed his gun against the back of her skull.

"All of you back up! I'll shoot her, I swear to God!"

The lackeys took a step back, uncertain. 

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" The woman said. "Little Morgan is in a sticky situation."

Over the woman's shoulder, Peter could see the glint of a knife held against Morgan's throat. His heart skipped a beat. 

The woman noticed his hesitation.

"Drop the gun, kid." 

Peter didn't move. Couldn't move. He hoped that no one could see how badly his hands were shaking.

“Let her go,” he said, painfully aware of how weak his voice sounded.

“Or what?”

“I’ll shoot you.”

“Will you? Go ahead, I’d like to see you try. You look like you're about to fall over.” She nodded toward her compatriots. "Grab him."

“Don’t move a muscle, or I’ll shoot her!” Peter yelled, much more assertive this time.

“He’s obviously bluffing!” The woman sounded more annoyed than frightened. Peter watched the knife balanced against Morgan's neck. Watched her heartbeat, now in time with his own. _Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump._

The knife dipped. It was lax in the woman's grip. She was distracted.

Now was his chance.

His finger tensed on the trigger.

Uncle Ben stared back at him with glassy, dead eyes.

Peter dropped the gun like it had burned him.

The man with the scarred face laughed. His lackeys descended on Peter like wolves. Hands clawed at him, grabbing at his arms, chest, face. They pulled his arms behind his back and kept him pinned there. He searched frantically for Morgan, but they had taken her somewhere else, somehow out of his sight.

"It's best that she doesn't see this," Scarface said. "I'm not completely heartless, you know. Don't get me wrong, I'm gonna kill you both. But there's no reason for the girl to suffer any more than she needs to."

Peter fought and tugged, but his effort were in vein. "What do you want with us?"

"Me, personally? Nothing. However, some very wealthy clients of ours have offered a pretty penny for us to destroy Stark and everything he stood for." Scarface examined his gauntlet, still radiating with soft blue light. "They even threw in some nice tech just for our trouble."

Something about the man clicked in Peter's mind. The scars. The forehead. Rumors from dark alleys, from shady clubs and sketchy characters he had run across as Spider-Man. "You're Hammerhead, right? I knew your ugly mug looked familiar."

Scarface, no, Hammerhead's eyes widened. "What could a child like you possibly know about Hammerhead?"

"I do my research. Hammerhead is a mob boss with an large underground network. Kidnapping, theft, torture, murder. It's all just another Tuesday night for men like you," Peter snapped.  "You'll do anything for a taste of power." 

"You're too smart for your own good. I see why Stark likes you so much. You're a true visionary." Hammerhead produced a vial from a compartment in his armor. Peter could feel the lackeys that were restraining him stiffen when they saw it. Peter couldn't tell what it was, but his spider sense pulsed with each beat of his racing heart.

Not good. This was not good.

Hammerhead raised the vial above Peter's head. "Now, let's see if we can't strip some of that vision away."

The vial tipped over, and cool liquid dripped into Peter's eyes. He blinked rapidly, chest heaving.

But nothing happened. 

So why did he still feel so uneasy?

The lackeys lead Peter back down the hall. He allowed himself to be pushed along, guided by a need to be reunited with Morgan.

_Take care of her for me, Pete._

_I will, Mr. Stark. I promise._

His vision blurred around the edges. At first he thought it was just the tears, but as he blinked them away, it only got worse. 

They threw him to the ground beside Morgan. He could barely see her, an impressionist painting of pale skin, brown hair, and green pajama bottoms. They shackled him back to the heater, this time with both arms pulled behind his back. If the pressure around his ankles was any indication, his feet had been restrained as well. 

He wasn't sure. He couldn't even see his own feet anymore.

Peter was cold. Injured. Starving. He was scared and confused and had no idea what to do next.

And now he was going blind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consistent chapter lengths? i dont know her
> 
> if you liked this so far (or even if you didn't) feel free to leave a comment or come chat with me on tumblr: https://probablyfakenews.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes, he thought it was getting better. 

Splotches of indistinct brown would sharpen into the shape of Morgan's worried eyes for a brief moment. Just long enough for Peter to question if his healing factor was kicking in, or if his imagination was creating shapes in a sea of shifting color. 

He drifted in and out of awareness. He felt oddly fuzzy. Either whatever Hammerhead put in his eyes did something to his mind as well, or his body was finally catching up with the stress it had gone through. 

Something tugged at his arm. Peter blinked awake and squinted against his blurry vision. Even color was starting to drift away now, become duller and duller with each passing second. 

"Petey!"  
"Hmm?"  
"I'm hungry."

"I know, sweetie. I am too."

Peter could barely make out the silhouettes of two of Hammerhead's lackeys, one by the door, the other on the bed. 

"Hey, man, can't you at least get her something to eat?" He said to the one on the bed. "Cut her some slack, she's just a kid." 

The guard by the door scoffed. "Says the boy who looks like he's twelve."

"I'm almost seventeen!"

"No can do. Boss's orders," the goon on the bed said. She sounded genuinely remorseful. "Sorry."

Peter slouched back against the wall. "Well, your boss sucks. Do you guys even get holiday pay?"

He pulled Morgan in close, tucked against his side, and tried to keep his mind from wandering. To thoughts of food, to home, to May. He craved her awful cooking more than any other meal in the world. Would she be eating alone at Christmas this year?

Peter wasn't even sure what day it was, but it had been a week before the holiday when they were captured. They had probably been gone at least a day, maybe two, if the hunger was anything to go by. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pangs in his stomach. 

 

 

 

The next time Peter drifted off, he was woken by a paper cup being tilted against his lips. Cool liquid poured down his throat, and he coughed, surprised. 

"Easy, kid. It's just water."

 More water ran down his chin than into his mouth, but he was thankful for whatever he could get to soothe his dry throat. He opened his eyes and immediately closed them. The room was a disorienting blur of muted color. Even silhouettes were no longer distinguishable.

"Look, Petey! We got snacks!" Peter could hear the crinkle of wrappers in Morgan's hands. 

He shook his head. "I don't understand." 

"I'm sticking my neck out for you kids." Peter recognized the voice of the guard who had been on the bed. "Try to keep this on the down-low, capiche?"

She tapped something solid against his mouth.Peter pressed his lips shut, confused.  "It's a granola bar. Just eat it," the guard said. 

"You know, this would be a lot simpler if you uncuffed me. Then I could just feed myself."

"Nice try, but that ain't gonna happen. I saw what you did to the last guy who was guarding you."

Peter opened his eyes long enough to glare at the vague blur that he assumed was the guard. He took a bite of the granola bar. A bit stale, but at the moment it was the best thing he had ever eaten. He scarfed it down in a few seconds flat. When he was finished, the guard stood to leave.

"Thank you," Peter told her. Her footsteps halted. 

"Don't thank me," she said. "All I did was make this a little less miserable. Doesn't change the fact that he's gonna kill you tonight."

Peter's heart stilled. "What?" 

She left without another word, but before the door could shut, Peter heard another set of heavier footsteps enter the room. 

"Alright, brats. Time for another phone call."

 

 

 

"Mommy?"

_"Morgan, sweetie, it's gonna be alright, you hear me? I will find you."_

"He wants me to tell you that he was too hard on you last time," Morgan said, her voice small. "H-he says that you can have one of us back."

Pepper drew in a breath. _"One?"_

"He says you have to choose."

The logical half of Peter's brain knew it was a trap. Had to be. But the other half, the desperate, optimist half, was relieved. Pepper would choose Morgan. he didn't want to stay here by himself, but it would be worth it as long as Morgan was safe in Pepper's arms. 

The line was silent for a long time. _"I can't do that."_

"Yes, you can," Peter pleaded. "Save her. I'll be fine."

_"I can't do that!"_

"He says-" Morgan was openly crying at this point. Peter could barely understand her. "He says you have until six o' clock to change your mind."

_"And if I don't choose before then?"_

Morgan didn't respond. She was sobbing. Peter bumped his arm gently into hers.

The goon watching after them must have taken the phone, because it was gruff voice that finally answered her.

"I will call you back at six," he growled. "Give me an answer, or I'll kill both of these little shits live on television while you watch. While you listen to their screams, their begging, through the phone. You have three hours, Mrs. Stark. Clock is ticking."

 

 

 

Peter didn't realize he was asleep again until he woke up in Central Park.

His dreams lead him here often, probably because he spent so much of his waking time wandering this path, aimless, in the months following Tony's last day. 

The newly built Iron Man memorial rose up in the distance, a towering figure of glittering bronze, gaudy and outlandish and everything that Tony was, yet also wasn't.

Peter didn't go to the statue. He sat down on one of the many benches that lined the trail. It faced a young red maple tree. A plaque stood at its base that read: _For Natasha, who loved and was loved deeply._

"She would have preferred this, you know." Tony joined him on the bench, looking just as vibrant as he had in the last dream. "Natasha never was drawn to fame and glory."

“It’s still sad to me,” Peter said. “Your memorial was months in the making, and then they planted this almost like an afterthought. Clint spent weeks trying even convince the city to do it.”

Tony hummed. A butterfly fluttered by his head before landing on the back of the bench. Flowers sprouted at the man's feet. A strange, subtle magic. Even in his dreams, Peter's world revolved around Tony. 

Not like it had early on in their relationship. Gone were the days of blind hero worship, but that didn't mean that Peter idolized Tony any less. 

"So what's your plan, kiddo?"

"Plan? What I am supposed to do? I couldn't get out last time, and back then I was a lot less cold, a lot less dizzy, and a lot less blind." Peter sank into the bench and looked up at the sky, watching the clouds. Tony mirrored his pose. They sat in companionable silence while Peter basked in the natural beauty around him, grateful to be able to see something, anything.

"I can't do this alone, Mr. Stark."

"You aren't alone."

"I know, I know," Peter said. "I have _you,_ or whatever sappy bullshit you were going to say."

"You do have me. You always will. But that wasn't what I meant." Tony's gaze was distant, lost in old memories. "You don't give Morgan enough credit. She's smart. Let her help you."

"She's just a little kid!" 

Tony chuckled. 

Peter stared at him. "What's so funny?"

"It's just, this is the exact opposite of every fight we've had before. Me, arguing that a kid is capable to assist in dangerous situations. You, saying the opposite."

"There's a big difference between a super-powered teenager and a five-year-old girl."

"Not that much of a difference, if the way you act is anything to go by."

"Hey!" Peter couldn't help it. He was laughing now, too. 

"As much as I enjoy our chats, you need to wake up now." Tony tapped his watch.  "You heard their plan. You know what they’re gonna do, and when. Less than three hours. Clock is ticking."

Peter nodded. He stood up to leave. His grasp on the dream was already fading.  

"Oh, and Pete?" Tony called after him. Peter turned back to look at him. The park had faded away, leaving Tony sitting on the bench, suspended in a field of white. 

"Take care of yourself, too."

Peter smiled. "I will," he said, and he meant it. 

 

 

 

Peter woke up to darkness. 

He knew, logically, that it wasn't dark. But it helped to pretend that someone had just cut out the lights. That he was blindfolded. Anything other than the painful truth that he would never see the light again. 

He shook his head. There was all the time in the world left for self-pity, but only after he got Morgan out of here. He strained his ears, further than he ever had before. The room was empty, save Peter and Morgan. He could hear no one in the hall or the rooms adjacent to theirs. However, there was a commotion one floor down. 

"That bitch is in an iron suit!" 

"I would have thought she would be waiting by the phone, not wreaking havoc in the city. I think she's finally lost it."

"Is she coming here?"

"She's in the area, but I don't think she knows what building we're in." 

"Get ready for a fight. If she has even half the power of her husband, we're in trouble."

Pepper was looking for them. And from the sounds of it, she was close to finding them. 

But six o'clock was fast approaching. 

Now might be their last chance. An idea sprouted in his head, so crazy it just might work.

"Morg, how about we play a game?" 

He could feel Morgan sit up straighter. "A game?"

"Yeah! It's time for the next chapter of the fearless Captain Morguna and her trusty sidekick, Eyepatch Pete," he told her, grinning. "I can get us out of here, but I need you to be my eyes. Just like back at the house when we were looking for treasure. Think you can do that?"

Morgan moved her head, but Peter couldn't tell what she was doing. "I'm gonna to need you to use your words. I can't see if you nod or shake your head."

"Y-yeah," she murmured. God, she was terrified. This was too much for a kid. This was too much for him, and he was a superhero! 

"That's my girl! Now this next part might be scary, but trust me, okay? Your sidekick has a plan." He nudged her with his arm. "Scoot over a bit. I don't want to hit you by accident."

The camera was still on him, but secret identity be damned. Peter lurched forward and the chain snapped cleanly in two.

"Part one of the plan is done!" Peter staggered to his feet. He reached in front of him. "Where are you at?"

"Here."

He followed her voice until  he bumped into her outstretched arm.  He grasped her hand. "Lead the way, Captain!" 

His balance was off, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. They slowly, painstakingly made their way across the room. And if he accidentally knocked over the camera in his struggles, well, that wasn't such a bad thing. 

His free hand brushed against the door, and he patted it, searching for the knob. Morgan grabbed his hand and gently placed it on the knob. It was locked. Peter ripped it open. 

"No one's out here, " she confirmed. 

"Okay, we need to move fast." Peter crouched down, and she climbed on his back, hugging his neck so that he could keep at least one of his hands free.

 He took off down the hall in a jog, one hand trailing against the wall. The hallway was easier. Morgan only had to direct him at cross-section. Their method wasn't perfect. Peter's foot had caught on a something that was strewn across the hall floor, a hose if Peter had to guess, but he only had to trip once before Morgan began to watch the floor more closely. 

The commotion downstairs was growing louder. Hammerhead was gearing up for something big.  Peter picked up the pace.  

They were taking the same route they had the first time they managed to escape, so Peter relied somewhat on memory. But when Morgan lead him to the stairwell, she told him to go up.

"Up?" Peter asked. "Won't that just get us more trapped?"

"Down didn't work last time," Morgan said simply. 

Peter couldn't argue with that. 

His feet found a steady rhythm as he climbed. He counted the steps so he knew when he was reaching the end of a flight. Handrails guided his turns. Morgan kept giving him tips in his ear. Turn. Turn. Step to the right, there's a box. Turn. Dream Tony had been right. She was more than capable of this. 

The hit came out of nowhere. 

Peter staggered back. His nose flared with pain. Something warm and wet dripped down his chin. A young man was cursing somewhere in front of him. He didn't sound much older than Peter. 

"Stop him!" Morgan said. "He has a radio!"  
Peter ran forward. His fingers found purchase in the seams of the man's armor, reaching blindly for the radio. They fell down to the ground, Peter on top with Morgan still clinging on. 

"The Stark kids escaped!" The young man shouted. Peter clawed at his face, his arms, trying to steal the radio, but it was too late. "They're in the north stairwell!"

Peter grabbed the man's hair and slammed him into the floor. The body beneath him stilled, and he only had time for a quick prayer that he hadn't killed the man before they were off again.

A door slammed open somewhere a few floors beneath them. Morgan squeezed his neck tight enough to choke him. 

"Go," she whispered. "Go, go, go."

Peter didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted up the stairs with reckless abandon. Morgan's shouted commands and his spider sense were the only thing keeping him from complete smashing into the walls.

At the top of the next flight Morgan told him to keep going straight. He slammed bodily into a door and scrambled to open it. An icy breeze blasted him in the face. His bare feet sank deep into the snow as he ran outside. It was so cold it burned, but Peter couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. 

They were gaining on him. One of the lackeys was so close that Peter could smell him. 

"You can't keep this up forever, boy!" 

Peter turned and swept out with his leg, surprising the goon by attacking first. He was running again before the man had time to hit the ground. 

His spidey sense blared. A gun went off, once twice. He let his instincts guide him as he sidestepped. The first shot missed, but the second managed to graze him. Pain shot through his leg, white hot. He collapsed in a heap, landing face-first in the snow. Morgan rolled off his back, lost in the chaos. 

"MORGAN!" he screamed, raw, but he couldn't find her anywhere. Couldn't hear her respond. "MORG-"

There was a pressure on his back, like a boot between his shoulder blades, holding him down to the ground. He pushed up against it, felt it budge, but the mech suit began to whir, kicking into overdrive as the lackey slammed him back down to the ground. Peter turned his head to the side and gasped, spitting out snow. 

"There's nowhere to run now, you little shit. I promised Mrs. Stark that I would kill her precious children, and I don't say things lightly."

Peter grunted beneath the weight. The ground pressed tight against his chest. "She's gonna kill you, you know."

"Somehow, I doubt that Miss High Heels and Pencil Skirts is much of a threat."

"She's done it before. She'll do it again. Pepper will do anything to protect her family."

And as much as Peter's anxious mind tended to doubt it, he was a part of that family now, too.

This man was nothing. Compared to Thanos, to the Vulture, hell, compared to the building that fell on him, this man was mediocre at best. They could blind him, starve him, beat him, freeze him, but they could never take away who he was at his core. 

Peter was Spider-Man. 

He didn't need his suit or his webs. Tony had made sure he had known that. All Peter needed was his own two hands. He squared his shoulders and placed his palms flat against the ground. He pushed up with all of his strength, his real strength, and threw the man off of him. 

Peter listened for where the man hit the ground and pounced before he had a chance to get up. Peter punched any part of the man he could find. A hand clawed at Peter's face and left deep gouges in his skin. The mech suit cracked beneath his fist. His knuckles were slick with blood, but he kept hitting and hitting and hitting-

The hand on his face fell limp.

The man wasn't moving anymore. 

Peter sat back on his heels.  He could hear the rest of Hammerhead's lackeys stomping around looking for him, calling out, taunting him. He could take them one at a time, but if the whole crew found him, he'd be screwed.

He was beyond cold now. Numb. 

Had Tony felt this way before he died? 

Footsteps crunched through the snow, heading straight toward him. They were soft, uncertain. 

A small hand poked his face. "Petey?"

"Morgan!" He reached out and pulled her into a hug. "Oh my God. Holy cow. I thought you were gone. I thought I'd lost you."

"I'm here."

"I love you so much, you know?" Peter struggled to his feet. "The adventures of Captain Morguna and Eyepatch Pete would be awful without Morguna. Eyepatch Pete is shit on his own. Wait, no, that's a bad word. You didn't hear that."

Morgan giggled. "He's not shit, " she said. 

"Thank you. You're so sweet. But if your mother asks, you did not learn that from me. Where to next, Captain?"

She grabbed his hand and lead him across the roof. He staggered as he walked, dizzy, and relied on her guidance completely. 

Morgan's grip on his hand tightened, and suddenly they were running. Peter's steps were clumsy. Something very large was chasing them, and Peter assumed it could only be Hammerhead.

He was so tired of running. 

"Stop!" Morgan screamed. Peter dug his heels in and skid to a stop, bumping into Morgan slightly. He wasn't sure how, but he could _feel_ how high up they were. Traffic drove by somewhere beneath them, distant. He scooped Morgan up into his arms.

"Face it," Hammerhead said. He sounded out of breath, and Peter would have felt smug for giving the man trouble if he wasn't so terrified. "You're done for. Just give up."

Hammerhead's remaining lackeys filed in around him. Seven guns were cocked almost simultaneously.

Peter's face was so swollen he wouldn't have been able to see, regardless of the state of his eyes. Each inhale of the crisp, dry air felt like swallowing glass shards. The cold set deep into his bones. Hammerhead was right. This was the end of the line. 

Morgan stiffened in his arms. Clutched the fabric of his shirt tightly. The chaos around him dimmed to a dull hum as she spoke to him, a small whisper by his ear. "Jump."

Peter took a hesitant step forward but backtracked when he felt no solid ground beneath his foot. "Are you sure?"

"Jump," she repeated, with a confidence that reminded Peter painfully of Tony. His feet carried him forward before his mind could second guess it. He placed all of his trust in this beautiful, brilliant little girl. Something inside him knew that a Stark would never steer him wrong. 

Peter held on to his little sister and leapt into the unknown. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was getting too long so i split it into 2 chapters. next chapter will be up as soon as i get the chance to finish it although i have no idea when that will be tbh
> 
> as always, thank you so much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Free fall was second nature to Peter.

He used to cherish the sensation of his heart in his throat. He used to laugh as he gave in to the tug of the Earth. The blur of the New York skyline  had always been a welcome sight, one that he could never quite recreate on camera. He had always been confident in his ability to turn his descent into a swing. With his webs as a safety net, falling had been a sport. A game. 

It was a lot less fun when he had no idea what was waiting for him at the bottom. 

Icy wind ripped at Peter's clothes, slashed against his skin. He lost all since of orientation as he tumbled through the air. Morgan, who was nestled tightly in his arms, was the only thing that kept him grounded. 

They only fell for a few seconds before they hit something solid.

Cool metal encased Peter's body, gripping him, crushing him. He could hear the whirring of a mech suit, and he squirmed and fought. He refused to be imprisoned again. Someone was yelling at him. Their flight must have destabilized, because Peter felt himself pitching to the left, falling at an angle. 

"Peter, calm down!"

"Pepper?" Peter stilled. His heart was threatening to burst from his chest, but he forced himself to stop struggling, to ignore that instinct that screamed for him to get away. 

"I've got you. You're safe. I've got you."

How could he confuse the quiet whir of Tony's tech with that of Hammerhead's black market mech suits? He relaxed against Pepper's form, secure in the grasp of her armor. 

Their descent slowed, and Peter's feet dragged lightly against the ground. It took him a moment to find his footing. His feet were numb from the cold. Morgan was still secure in his arms, and he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to let her go. A crowd buzzed around him, nearly drowned out by the blare of a siren.  Someone touched his shoulder, and he jumped back with a gasp. Morgan patted his head and shushed him gently. 

"It's still me. It's just me," Pepper said. She pulled him into a hug again, with Morgan sandwiched between them. "Thank you, Peter. I can't even begin to thank you enough for bringing her back to me. For bringing both of you back to me."

Peter pressed his forehead against her shoulder. "Don't bother. It's my fault we got captured in the first place."

"Sweetie, no. You take after Tony with that self-deprecating bullshit, I swear." Pepper released her grip. Peter felt her hand stroke the side of his face, but she quickly broke off the tender gesture with a hiss of alarm. "Oh my God. Your eyes-"

Peter wondered what they must look like. The skin around his eyes was tender and painful, but he wasn't sure if that was because of the chemical or being punched in the face repeatedly. "Hammerhead poured something in them. Some kind of chemical," he stammered. "I can't see!"

"Shit. We need a medic over here!" Pepper yelled. She placed a hand on his back and ushered him forward, but when he took a step his leg collapsed beneath him. Peter hit the ground and scraped his palm against the asphalt in a vain attempt to catch himself. He held on to Morgan until the last second and managed to drop her gently on the pavement. 

"Petey!" she squealed. 

"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm fine."

"Jesus, Peter. Is that a gunshot wound?"  
His injuries should probably hurt more than they did, but all he felt was cold. It weighed heavy on his limbs. "Just a graze. 'S nothing," he slurred.

"Nothing my ass. May deserves a medal for putting up with your nonsense all these years." She picked him up in a bridal carry. He was too tired to protest. He let his arm hang loose, and a small hand grabbed his as they walked. 

She laid him down on something soft and firm. "You're in an ambulance now, Peter. The medic is associated with SHIELD so you don't need to worry about your enhancement. Morgan is right here beside you. I know you probably don't want to let her out of your sight right now."

Peter glared in her direction. 

She chuckled awkwardly. "Not sight, but you know what I mean. I'm sorry. I didn't think before I spoke." Pepper crouched down near where Peter assumed Morgan was. "I need to go, but I'll be right back, baby. Take care of Petey for me while I'm gone."

"Okay! I'm really good at saving people."

"You're the best at saving people. But now Mommy needs to save some people, too."

"No," Peter said. He hated how young he sounded, but in that moment he didn't care. He couldn't lose her, too.

"Peter, I need you to listen to me. I have to go stop Hammerhead, but you need to stay here. Okay? Stay right here."

Peter reached out for her, and she clasped her hands around his. "Don't leave us here. Please." 

"You have been so brave, Peter. You kept her safe. Now let me protect you." 

Her hands left his, and then she was gone. 

"No," Peter repeated. He struggled to sit up. Firm hands pressed back on his shoulders, probably the medic, but Peter pushed past them easily. He staggered to his feet and bumped against the interior wall of the ambulance. "You don't understand. She needs backup. I can... I can help."

"From the looks of things she's doing just fine on her own, buddy."

Peter knew the medic was right. Pepper was phenomenal. Peter would never doubt her abilities. But Tony had been phenomenal, too, and look where that got him. 

Morgan wrapped her arms around his legs. He tried to nudge her away but her grip was like iron.

"Stay," she whispered. 

_Take care of her for me, Pete_.

Peter pried Morgan's arms gently from around his legs. He bundled her up into his arms as he had done a thousand times during the last few days. He could still hear the sirens outside, the screaming and gunfire in the distance. It wasn't too late to join the fight. Surely with his hearing and spider sense, he would be able to do at least _something._

But there was no way in hell he was leaving Morgan alone. 

Peter sat back on the gurney and tucked Morgan into his side. He turned to face her, and for just a moment, he thought he could see a vague outline of her smile. The doors to the ambulance shut, and soon they were driving far away from that disastrous place. 

 

 

He watched the whole thing on YouTube in the days that followed. There hadn't been any reason to worry. Pepper, looking radiant and intimidating in her blue Rescue armor,destroyed Hammerhead and his lackeys. Their mech suits were nothing compared to Stark tech, and their malice was nothing compared to Pepper's ruthless determination. 

As the camera focused on her, hovering over Hammerhead, armor glittering in the light from her repulsors, she looked so much like Tony that Peter had to stop to breathe. 

May's voice broke him from his near panic attack. "Peter! Our guests are here!"

"I'll be there in a sec!" Peter switched to his front facing camera. His face was still tinged black and purple from the bruising. He traced the red patches circled his eyes with his fingertips, just beneath his inch-thick glasses. His vision was healing, slowly but surely, but he still needed the glasses for the time being. He hated how roughed-up he looked, but the doctors predicted that he would be completely healed before winter break ended. 

May hadn't wanted him to start school again so soon, but Peter had insisted. He needed normalcy. Pepper had denied the rumors of Peter being her son, but the media was still hounding them, desperate for a story. His life would never be the way that it was before.

He shook the troubling thoughts from his mind. Today was Christmas. He could save the worrying for after the holidays. 

May, Pepper, and Happy were sitting on the couch when he finally joined them, bundled up in sweaters and chatting with a familiarity that made Peter's heart ache. Morgan was nestled in her mother's lap, wearing a shit-eating grin as she said something that made Happy sputter in shock. He could still picture Tony from his dream, lounging on this same couch, radiant in the light pouring in from the window. Peter froze in place. They were the broken fragments of a family long lost, dancing delicately around the void left by death and grief.  But as Peter watched them, he allowed himself to consider that they could be the building blocks of a new family, one that was just being formed. Peter broke out of his daze and joined them.

 Morgan scrambled up from her mother's lap and crawled over to Peter's. "I made you a present!" she said. Her fist was closed delicately around something. "Close your eyes."

Peter did as he was told, then opened one eye jokingly to look at her. She giggled and hit him on the shoulder. 

"No peeking!" she commanded. Peter smiled. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to tense as he felt something settle around his neck. Morgan spent a moment adjusting whatever it was before sitting back. "Okay! I'm ready now."

Peter opened his eyes. He glanced down at his chest where a necklace made of paper and pipe cleaners  now rested. He picked up the pendant at the end of it and turned it so that he could read it. In glittery red and blue paint Morgan had written the words "Best superhero ever!!!"

She hadn't given him a necklace. She had made him a medal. 

It was silly. It was childish. It shouldn't have meant much. But as Peter stared at the handmade award, he blinked away tears. Somehow, it was just as validating as when Tony made him an Avenger. He wiped his eyes and looked up. May was giving him a strange look, but looked away when he caught her staring. 

Morgan bounced in his lap. "Where's _my_  present, Petey?"

"Morgan!" Pepper warned. "Don't be rude."

Peter laughed. "It's under the tree," he told Morgan as he poked her nose. "But it's not nearly as nice as the gift you made for me. Thank you."

May stood from the couch. "How about we save the presents until after dinner?" she said. "It should be just about done. Peter, will you help me set the table?"

The moment they were in the kitchen, she pulled him into a hug. 

"I hope it's okay that I invited them," she whispered. "I know its hard for you, with everything that happened this year-"

"May-"

"And if its too much I can tell them to leave. I'm sure Pepper will understand-"

May!" 

May froze. She stepped back to give him her full attention.

"They're family," Peter said. "Mr. Stark wouldn't have it any other way. _I_ wouldn't have it any other way."

She smiled and nodded. "Alright then," she agreed softly. "Then get to work, bug boy. This table isn't going to set itself."

Peter hugged her one more time before he went to grab plates. And if he set the table for an extra person, no one said anything about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and its finally done! thank you all for your patience with this story <3 i swear i did not mean to leave you hanging for this long, but life just be like that sometimes
> 
> as always, i live for comments and criticism


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